


escapril 2020

by mooncalf_of_morgana



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Killing Eve (TV 2018), Merlin (TV), Torchwood
Genre: Episode: s03e12-13 The Coming of Arthur, Episode: s09e02 The Witch's Familiar, Episode: s10e12 The Doctor Falls, Escapril Poetry Challenge, F/F, Gen, Post-Episode: s12e02 Spyfall Part 2, Post-Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children, Post-Series 03: Children of Earth (Torchwood), thasmin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:14:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23546725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mooncalf_of_morgana/pseuds/mooncalf_of_morgana
Summary: A collection of poems for escapril 2020.
Relationships: Missy & Clara Oswin Oswald, The Doctor & The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor & The Master (Dhawan), Thirteenth Doctor & Yasmin Khan, Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan, Twelfth Doctor & Missy
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	1. day 8: hometown

**Author's Note:**

> My first contribution to escapril 2020 - today's prompt was 'hometown'. It's simple and quick, and I don't really think of myself as a poet but I hope you enjoy it regardless. :)

‘can we visit your home?’ Yaz asks, well meaning, but  
it scalds her, a stab through the hearts  
a reminder that she doesn’t have a home,  
not really,  
not anymore.

not since the Master—  
she imagines him rampaging through the streets,  
laughing and laughing with mad, manic glee  
through the fields where they ran as children  
they’d laughed then, too, with stupid, naive innocence-  
all gone now.

it’s her fault, always her fault  
because he’s always been her responsibility,  
and she his  
and that was just how things were.

now, the fires burn  
right there, behind her eyelids—  
she can hear the children screaming.

she tries to smile at Yaz, brighten her face up a little  
(she doesn’t think it works)  
‘another time’ she says.


	2. day 9: natural light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a day late because I started writing this yesterday but edited and finished it today - sorry! Spoilers for Doctor Who S12 E10 'The Timeless Children'.

she drums her fingers over the cold metal floor of her cell:  
tap-tap-tap-tap, tap-tap-tap-tap—  
the Master’s laugh echoes in her ears, manic and mad;  
she snatches her hand away.

white-blue light streams through the windows of the cell, blurs through her half-closed eyes  
it looks a bit like her TARDIS  
(with far less style and a rather heavy touch of prison chic—  
but she’s so alone here that she’ll take what she can get)  
the blue lights embedded into the floor are almost like the lights of her console,  
if she squints  
(maybe—not really)

she hears the grunting of a Judoon prison guard,  
the only sign that she hasn’t just been abandoned here to rot  
(and with her track record, that wouldn’t be too unlikely)

she squeezes her gritty eyes shut  
maybe she can pretend, just for a moment,  
that she’s in her beloved TARDIS,  
pressed up against the console  
except that hurts too much, for though the lighting is halfway-convincing,  
the TARDIS’s absence from the back of her mind,  
usually so soothing,  
is absent  
a blank space in the back of her consciousness

and although it terrifies her to admit it,  
even more than the ever-encompassing dark when the prison wardens switch off the lights,  
even more than the fact that she can’t sense the passing of time like she once could,  
(‘what kind of a Time Lord are you?’ she asks herself. ‘a fake one,’ she replies)  
even more than the nightmares which are her only companion,  
she isn’t sure she’ll ever feel it there again.

and that hurts more than anything.


	3. day 10: parasitic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is about covid-19, so if that is going to trigger or upset you, I'd advise not reading this. I am also aware that I didn't fully follow the prompt as covid-19 is a pandemic, not a parasite. This is a little late again because I wrote it yesterday but wasn't really sure about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came up with this while on my daily exercise walk (which explains the theme) and brainstorming future IB Art pieces - one of my final pieces (which I won't be sharing online because I'm scared of the IB examiners lol) will probably be closely related to this concept. :)

we thought the world would end with a bang.  
an apocalypse-red sky,  
screams and cries,  
people gathering in squares, churches, parks,  
people with their noses pressed to windows to watch the sun explode,  
people hugging and crying and holding hands,  
houses bursting at the seams.

instead, it is quiet, unexpected.  
a silent shadow creeping over the world;  
it’s upon us before we know it.  
we’re walking two metres apart,  
eyes down, masks on.  
the squares are deserted, city-centres abandoned.  
helicopters drone incessantly, scanning for gatherings of friends, families, foolish partygoers  
(when did we stop being surprised, and when did this become normal?)

we want the world to end loudly.  
proclaiming our downfall in screams, shouts, bangs,  
in red light shining through the windows.  
but the red light shines from our screens instead, the masks we wear, the empty shelves of Tesco.

the world ends quietly  
until it doesn’t.

when all this is over,  
when some of us live to breathe another day,  
when the ‘Covid-19 Pandemic’ is taught to our grandchildren at school:

will we have learned anything?  
will we have learned to hold dear that which is is important to us,  
to value the workers that kept the beating hearts of our societies going while the rest shut down,  
the ones on the front lines?

or will we allow it all to fade?  
will we go back to our lives,  
parties, protests, noisy gatherings,  
and allow all this to become nothing but a strange, strange dream;  
a blip in time?

for all our sakes, let us remember why this became a crisis, and how the world will survive this.


	4. day 11: heaven/hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter focuses on Missy until S10 E12 'The Doctor Falls'. It was fun trying to get into her head, maybe I'll have to write more from her perspective :) (also known as 'The One in Which I Rediscover Capital Letters').

The world is bright, and it is hers.  
All she has to do is smile, catlike,  
Point a few guns, maybe, but she isn’t above violence,  
And then she takes what she likes.  
Not like the Doctor, all bleeding hearts and what he calls _goodness_.  
Because that’s not all life has to offer, can't he see?  
What, really, is life but a game?  
She has always been the best player of them all.

Until she isn’t.  
Until the world tips forwards, sickeningly, and drops her with a thump.  
She’s left lying on a forest floor, all mulch and crackly leaves and laughter dying on her lips.  
And she’d been having so much _fun_.  
Now the sky is burning with Cybermen, and the Doctor is nowhere to be seen.  
She’d tried to play the game _his_ way, all fairness and compassion and so _boring_ —  
She’d tried. And now she’s here.  
He’s gone.  
And suddenly, it is not a game anymore.

Her limbs stopped obeying her several moments ago.  
She can practically _hear_ her organs failing, the stupid things.  
She should’ve had them banned years ago, had them replaced with— _ouch_.  
It’s really starting to hurt, now.  
The pain starts in her hearts and spreads out through her fingertips.  
Tears start to form on her face, drying halfway through, leaving her eyes glassy.  
She can’t move her eyes, oh _god_ she can’t move she can’t move—  
Her breath quickens, before it stops short

and just like that, it’s all over.


	5. day 12: submerged in water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This poem is about the BBC TV show 'Merlin', told from Morgana's perspective, and set in-between S3 E12 and S3 E13. Late again, I know, but I hope anyone who reads this enjoys it regardless :)

The water caresses her skin,  
Cold, shocking (soothing, calming)  
As she stands in the lake, lets it lap against her thighs.  
The silks and velvet fabrics of her dress will be ruined, she knows  
But she hardly cares.  
For the whole world is hers,  
Now that she is Queen of Camelot.

She thinks she surely must want to smile  
Now that she has risen, victorious,  
From the whispers of flames, the hiss of smoke, ash sharpening her tongue.  
The scumbag Uther will be dead, soon—  
It is up to her, and her only, to decide when.  
Finally, _she_ is the one with power at her disposal,  
Easy, incredible, _magnificent_!

So why does it feel so hollow?

She thinks of those she thought were her friends.  
Gwen, Merlin, _Arthur_.  
(sweet maiden, kind servant, _dear_ brother—all gone now, fake, like shadows on a wall)  
They all betrayed her, in the end.  
Her red lips curl in a snarl, teeth catching the light,  
Just for a moment, and then it is gone.  
A queen doesn’t lose her composure, after all.  
And a good queen she will make—  
—after all those who hated her are dead.

Then, and only then, will her heart be light, her smiles easy and true.  
Then, and only then, will Morgana  
(and Morgana only, for the name Pendragon tastes sour on her lips, bitter on her tongue)  
be truly free.


	6. day 13: the city

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This poem is multifandom, containing 'Doctor Who' content (spoilers for S12 E2 Spyfall pt. 2), 'Killing Eve' content (no major spoilers), and 'Torchwood' content (spoilers for S3 E5, post-Children of Earth). I'm not entirely sure about this one lol but I hope you enjoy it.

The city of London is deserted.  
The usually bustling streets are empty; shops closed, bus stops abandoned.  
The only people out are police officers or the occasional jogger.  
Sometimes, the two groups collide,  
And there’s a weird sort of dance as they try to maintain the prescribed two metres apart,  
Accompanied by ‘sorry’s and ‘excuse me’s and awkward head nodding.  
Then their eyes flick away, and they move on,  
The moment entirely forgotten.

On Gallifrey, the citadel of the Time Lords burns.  
Fire crackles loudly for nobody to hear but the Doctor, for everyone else is dead.  
She stands in amongst the ruins, red sand running between her fingers,  
Collecting in the folds of her coat like rust on a piece of old metal.  
The air sizzles with heat, and the tears that fall from her wide eyes are hot and shining.  
The Master, her oldest friend and best enemy, did this to her.  
And it was, she believes, her own fault.

Villanelle stalks the streets of Paris.  
She ignores the people completely, for they matter so little to her that they may as well not be there at all.  
Sometimes, she stops to press her nose up to windows of fancy shops with flashy clothes.  
In the end, she returns to her apartment, refreshing her inbox again and again,  
Waiting for her next kill.

Captain Jack Harkness sits on a bench overlooking Cardiff Bay.  
It’s been a long, long time since he was here last.  
His face is tired and worn and so utterly sad, and  
He looks out at the water without really seeing;  
The people walking in front of him blur and fade.  
Instead, he sees his friends: laughing, vibrant, and so alive.  
God, he misses them.

Some say that cities are like multiverses,  
For they contain multitudes of lives,  
Contained in their own pocket universes (of sorts)  
Sometimes colliding, briefly and then forgotten, sometimes never meeting at all.

In the city, it’s easy to get lost in amongst them all,  
Or to simply forget that there are any universes besides our own.


	7. day 14: pink, like your brain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missy and Clara during 'The Witch's Familiar' (Doctor Who S9 E2).

The dalek is screaming in its tinny little voice.  
It’s like music to Missy’s ears.  
Dark, gloopy dalek-insides ooze into the holes she made with the dark star alloy.  
To her, nothing has been as funny as this for—what? Centuries?  
She laughs and laughs, high-pitched and a little manic,  
While Clara stares.

When the dalek is dead,  
Eyestalk sloshing with the stuff,  
Her laughs subside.  
Gingerly, face scrunched with disgust—  
(why should a Time Lady have to go so low? well, if it’ll save the Doctor from his own stupidity...)  
—she reaches inside and slowly, carefully,  
Pulls out the creature itself.

It hangs from her fingers,  
Pink and smelling and awful.  
She dangles it closer to Clara, a laugh twisting her lips.  
‘Look, it’s pink—just like your tiny human brains.’  
She frowns. _Brains? Brain?_  
‘Or brain, maybe. Humans only have a singular brain, yes?’  
Clara doesn’t seem to have heard a word she’s just uttered, too busy staring at the dalek hanging from Missy’s fingers.

Missy sighs. Hopeless, that one.   
Still, for being one of the Doctor’s friends, she’s not half bad.   
A useful tool, if anything.

‘Come on!’ she trills, tossing the dalek to the ground   
where it lands with a _splat_.


	8. day 15: euphoria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Thasmin for the soul :) I started writing a whole one-shot and had to remind myself that escapril is all about poetry.

The stars glitter,  
Amongst the sweeps and swirls of blue, orange, gold and pink nebulae.  
It’s like somebody swirled all the colours in the Universe together and dropped them into a stasis cube.  
They’re reflected in Yaz’s dark, wide, glittering eyes,  
Framed by her long, black eyelashes,  
Breathtakingly beautiful.  
And the Doctor can’t drag her eyes away.


	9. day 30: dusk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter! I missed out on basically the past two week's worth of prompts (shame, since some of them seemed pretty interesting actually). I wanted to write some soft Thasmin to round it off, so here we are. Enjoy! :)

Yaz and the Doctor sit under the shade of trees on a distant planet.  
The world around them is tinged with purple, a swirling sky overhead;  
Tiny, glowing insects flutter around them.  
The air is lukewarm and hazy—  
On Earth, they’d call this dusk.

The view is beautiful, but so is the Doctor.  
Her head is thrown back to take in the sky, her eyes bright and shining,  
Her golden hair, a little longer now, brushes against the nape of her neck.  
Yaz takes her cool hand, watching the purple light swallows them both whole.

The Doctor smiles, glancing her way.  
And she starts to sing a song under her breath,  
In no language Yaz has ever heard before.  
It’s musical, somehow sounding like Greek and Latin and Arabic all at once,  
And something else besides.

Yaz leans against her, wrapping an arm around her waist,  
Closes her eyes,  
And listens, filled with a cool contentment.  
The trees wave in the wind, the sky swirls and the insects buzz  
As the Doctor sings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest I'm a sucker for Gallifreyan culture being explored in canon (not that it is very much - in NuWho anyway - but I enjoy reading the wiki, lol), even though Gallifrey is pretty corrupt/etc. I'm also a sucker for soft wlw couples, especially couples including 13!
> 
> I hope my poetry hasn't been too cringy or terrible, and I hope you enjoyed the ride (even though I skipped a lot of the prompts)! :)


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